


Tybalt

by Truly_Happy



Category: Romeo And Juliet - Shakespeare
Genre: Angst, Backstory, Gen, I'll mark it anyways, Just to be sure, Tybalt's still dead, Tybalt-centric, does it count as major character death is everyone is already dead?, pretty much just the end rewritten from tybalt's POV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-14
Updated: 2018-01-14
Packaged: 2019-03-04 22:33:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13374447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Truly_Happy/pseuds/Truly_Happy
Summary: People, running about. “Romeo!” They cry, and I puzzle for a moment where I’ve heard that name- my memories are a bit faded, you see. And it seems that the more I dwell on them the harder they are to recall.





	Tybalt

Death isn’t quite as I imagined it to be. There aren’t any pearly gates, no great, godly voice. No clouds, no angels, nothing like the texts my father used to make me read when I was a boy. It’s just dark. Dark and quiet.

For once I don’t think I mind the quiet. 

I can see Them sometimes. People, running about. “Romeo!” They cry, and I puzzle for a moment where I’ve heard that name- my memories are a bit faded, you see. And it seems that the more I dwell on them the harder they are to recall. 

Then it comes back to me- blood, scarlet that stains the hands. Much darker than I thought it would be. Guilt and nausea, a boy who I know but can not recall the name of pressing his hands to the wound, gaping like a fish. “‘Tis but a scratch.” He laughs, only to fall on his side and cry out, cursing my house and the house of the boy named Romeo. Saying that we killed him with our petty rivalry. 

Then more blood- my own, this time as I look up at the face of the boy Romeo. I look him in the face, and I see nothing in his eyes- no regret, no remorse. I died hating him, I recall. 

Funny, how petty it all seems now. Stupid, foolish, arrogant. Why were we even fighting? Why did I hate them? Why did my father hate them? 

My father was always a cold man- He died a little while before I did, I think. Pox, or plague, or some other illness that I can not name. I couldn’t even say that I missed him. He never really liked me. Neither did my mother, for that matter. I think they both resented me. Blamed me for their own shortcomings. I got angry at that- angry that they would blame me for something I could not help. Unlike Juliet I had no nurse to hold me close, or kiss my wounds better.

My uncle- I liked him. Him and Juliet who used to play with me when we were both too young to know better. And her nurse, who slipped me sweets. Juliet, who was pretty, sweet and kind, and her father was always telling me that I shouldn’t be too hasty, too rash. A portly, jovial man who was always smiling. Always celebrating. There was always food on their table and a fire in their hearth- not like my house, where it was cold and lonely. 

Then Romeo- that foolish idiot who gave away his heart at the drop of a hat. His friend, Mercutio who was always laughing, and Benvolio, who always looked at me like I was some sort of monster. I loathed them because I was told to. There was no real reason behind my hatred, other than the desire to hate something, rather than dwell on my own shortcomings. 

I suppose I fancied myself a sort of monster, too- acted as though I killed without remorse, and acted as though I cared not for the world around me. Oh, how I envy the living now. They never take enough time to stop and admire the water as it flows through the fountain. The gardens, with their pretty flowers and trees. I miss trees. 

I see other people sometimes- not the living, no, others that move through the dark and the fog. The dead. Never anyone that I know. An old man, a young girl. Once there was a baby. No more than one or two, laying on the ground, crying. 

I wonder if the darkness ends? Or does it go on, forever and always? 

It’s so dark. 


End file.
